


An Accountant, a Dentist and a Hawk Walk Into a Bar

by qwanderer



Series: Old Friends of Mozzie's [4]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Leverage, The Accountant (2016), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, White Collar
Genre: Gen, fanon Clint Barton, slight Brickverse crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 07:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10611957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwanderer/pseuds/qwanderer
Summary: They first met when Mozzie was doing his second stint as the Dentist of Detroit.That was a long time ago. But some things never change.





	1. The Kid

**Author's Note:**

> There are a couple of things this story was not meant to be, and yet is:
> 
> It's a crossover WIP! YIKES! I swear I'm getting better at finishing them, guys! I have a trimmed-down little plan for this that I can totally handle.
> 
> It continues to drag past fandoms in this series into further stories, even though the series was meant to have one crossover at a time, sharing only White Collar! At least I've managed to leave Penelope & Co. in peace, but the others are all here. This makes timelines complex, but tbh I'm having fun with that.
> 
> I've gone past any realistic timeline with the BoNY in it, and all the other canons I'm drawing from are too mundane for it, so I've made a decision: This series's Clint is a fanon Clint who lives in a world that has little to do with the MCU except that Clint looks like Jeremy Renner and Phil looks like Clark Gregg. Background is cherry-picked from fanon and Fraction. There are aliens, there may or may not be a Stargate program, but the agencies cover it all up. There are very few or no superpowered humans, in the traditional sense. Superheroes are savants or, on occasion, aliens.
> 
> I tried to stick close to the timelines of The Accountant, Leverage and White Collar, although with the understanding that Mozzie lied to Peter about how much time he spent as the Dentist.

**1.**

**September 1987, Detroit**

The Hawk and the Dentist were in their secluded back office, playing parcheesi, when the phone rang. 

The Dentist answered. "Yes, what is it?" 

"There's a kid poking around the operation," his current lip man said. "Says the numbers are off. Knows something's up. Tried to chase him off, but he's a stubborn little shit. What you want me to do with him?" 

Moz looked at Clint, meeting his sharp eye. 

Mozzie was the Dentist of Detroit, and Clint was Hawkeye, his favorite wetwork contractor, but the reputation of the Dentist of Detroit and his ruthless operations had more to do with the DeLuca family than with these two boys, seventeen and eighteen, still really kids themselves. 

They banked on the reputation DeLuca Sr. had built up around the Dentist to save his pride, but they tried not to live up to it, when they could help it. 

"Bring him up here," Moz said. "The Hawk's here. We'll deal with him." 

A boy was shoved into the room, dark hair, glasses, maybe fourteen, fifteen. His expression was blank, but somehow also observant, thoughtful. His eyes went immediately to Hawkeye, to his hands and arms where they were revealed by a black tank top, and stayed there, darting to Mozzie only intermittently. He met neither of the other boys' eyes. 

"So you like to stick your nose into things that aren't your business," Clint offered flatly. 

"The numbers downstairs are wrong," the kid said. "Your percentages don't add up." 

"That's kind of the point. We're mobsters, kid. We're criminals." 

"You're stealing." The boy made no indication what he thought about this one way or the other. 

"You don't point things like that out to people," the Dentist said, speaking to him at last. "It can get you in a lot of trouble. My guys think we've brought you back here to kill you." 

"Are you going to kill me?" the kid asked, still not looking Mozzie in the eye, still not showing any of the signals that, on a typical boy, would have meant fear. 

Clint scoffed. "No, kid." 

"Then what do you want?" 

To most operations, this kid might have been an annoyance, a complication. A loose end to be disposed of. Moz liked him, though. He knew what it was to be the weird kid with glasses who knew too much. 

"Well," he said, "I'd like... to give you some advice." 

"To mind my own business," the kid guessed, obstinately expressionless. 

"No," Mozzie disagreed. "I'd never underestimate you that way." 

"Why?" 

"I'm the Dentist of Detroit," he said. "I stole $500,000 from the DeLuca family when I was twelve. I know what kids are capable of." 

"Then what?" the kid asked. 

"Don't attract attention to what you can do," Hawkeye told him. "What you can see." 

"Discretion is your greatest ally," Moz agreed. 

The kid nodded, looking up but not quite meeting Mozzie's eyes. "What will you do now?" 

Clint smirked. "Put your weight in garbage into a trash bag and have the guys dump it in the lake." 

"Send you out the back," Mozzie continued. "If you never come here again, we'd be grateful." 

"Okay," the kid agreed. "We're moving tomorrow, anyway." 

"Huh," Hawkeye said. "Lucky us. Can I walk you home?" 

"Okay," said the kid, his intonation precisely the same. 

"We're gonna go down the wetwall," Clint told him, opening a secret passage in one wall. "Want me to carry you?" 

"No, I can do it." 

True to his word, the kid scrambled down, slower than Hawkeye, but with more grace than he would have expected out of the nerdy little kid. Clint felt like showing off, so he did a little flip to get to the bottom. 

"Are you superheroes?" the kid asked as they exited into an alley. 

Clint eyed him. "You got a weird idea what it means to be a hero, kid," he said. 

The kid pulled out an issue of The Punisher from his bag and offered it to Clint. 

Clint took it carefully, glanced through it, and whistled. "Your folks know you read these?" 

"My dad bought it for me," the kid answered. Toneless and guileless as ever. 

Clint handed the comic back. He wasn't exactly shocked. He'd never really gotten Mozzie's obsession with the whole 'having parents' deal. In his experience, it usually wasn't that great. 


	2. The Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the only one with any real Leverage stuff in it, which is why the hitter didn't also walk into the bar.

**2.**

**February 2003, undisclosed location**

Vance had put together a solid team. 

Unfortunately, with shapeshifting aliens in the mix, there was always a new and exciting way for things to go to shit. 

The aliens had infiltrated the local police station, and the team had eventually taken all of them out, but the records and APBs the aliens had gotten out on the team would take a little longer to clear up. So they were hiding. 

Clint said he knew a place. Eliot and their backup sniper, the guy who'd found the discrepancies that led to the discovery of the alien incursion in the first place, trusted him enough to follow. 

"I have an old friend who knows the place too," Clint told them, "but the last thing he'd do would be turn people in to the cops." 

Moz was there, peering at the guests Clint had brought to their latest shared sanctuary. He glared hard at Eliot. 

"Spencer," he said. "You're one of Moreau's." 

"Not anymore," Eliot promised with a dark look in his eyes. 

"Not good enough." Moz turned on Clint. "What you mostly just pretended to be? This guy actually _is_." 

Clint shook his head. "I was lucky. I had you for a boss. Without that, it would've been easy to get in over my head. Eliot's out. I'll vouch for him, D. He's good people." 

Mozzie sighed, deep and long-suffering. "Fine. But on your head be it. And your other guest?" 

Clint smiled now. "You remember the kid who interrupted that first scam we pulled together back in the Detroit days, right?" 

"Oh really?" Moz looked the guy over with new eyes. "Good to see you again." 

The soldier nodded. "Thanks for not killing me," he said. 

The mood of the safehouse eased after that, especially when Eliot started cooking and good smells filled the place, but the soldier remained stiff, like it was easier for him to be at attention than to relax with his comrades. 

Eliot set plates in front of them, and Clint dug in immediately. Moz gave a little of his to Sweet Darnell, then, after watching his bird closely, began eating with satisfaction. 

The soldier frowned at his. 

"Problem?" Eliot asked him. 

"I can't eat this," he said. "I'm sorry." 

"Somethin' wrong with it?" 

"I just... I'm used to army food, army food's always the same." 

"Yeah," Eliot agreed. "Most people think of that as a drawback." 

"I like when things stay the same." 

"You want me to make somethin' else?" Eliot asked. 

That was the moment when Mozzie knew for certain that he liked the person Eliot Spencer was becoming. The food was exquisite. The chef had just been told, in a tone with no humor whatsoever in it, that one of the people he was serving would have preferred mass-produced government gruel. And Eliot was nothing but patient and understanding. 

"I can do it," the soldier offered, and got up to take Eliot's place in the kitchen. 

Clint dragged the abandoned plate towards him, unconcerned. "You must be hard to live with when you're not on the job," he told the soldier. "But then you seem like the kind of guy who's never not on the job. No family?" 

"I had a brother," the soldier told him. "I have a brother. He's used to... me. He knows." 

"Brothers always do," Hawkeye agreed. "Doesn't mean they do everything right." 

"Yes," the soldier answered flatly. 

They stayed in the safehouse for two days. Clint and Eliot made themselves comfortable. Mozzie was a bit uncomfortable with the close quarters, and clearly, so was the soldier. 

"Need anything?" Moz asked him eventually. 

The soldier didn't even look up from the table, where he'd been staring at his own clasped hands for half an hour. His only response was a twitch of his fingers. Moz made to turn away, but finally, the soldier spoke. 

"It's not a bad place," he said. "But there are too many places." 

"Only having a few places is dangerous," Mozzie countered. "But then, I'm only at ease here because I know the place better than anyone. It's mine." 

"I need a place that's mine," the soldier agreed. "But I always need to move, everything moves, it's hard for me." 

"I have... several places like this one," Mozzie admitted. 

"I need one place," the soldier said. "I've never had that. I need it to stay the same even when I move. I know I can't. But it would be better." 

Moz made a thoughtful noise. "You need a trailer," he said. 

"That's a good idea," the soldier replied tonelessly, still not looking up. "Thank you." 

Moz smiled. "Well, I haven't got any family to take care of but you... co-conspirators." 


	3. The Friend

**3.**

**April 2007, undisclosed location**

Moz had heard whispers about the Accountant. A man who could make numbers do anything you asked him to. A man who could find money, no matter how far it ran. 

Mozzie was curious how this Accountant did it, but he didn't need those kinds of services. He was quite happy knowing where all his money was at any given time, and being the only one who did. 

Then, one day, he got an unusual message. To a phone number no one should know, asking for a meet in a safehouse only three other people had been to. 

Clint would have personalized the message. Eliot would have bribed him with food. That left one man, or a whole host of less likely possibilities involving one of those three betraying the safehouse's location. And whatever else those three were, they were professional. So Moz wasn't surprised to find his dark-haired friend in the old safehouse. 

"Haven't seen you in a while," Mozzie commented. 

"I was in prison," his friend said. 

"Lot of that going around right now," Mozzie replied with a slightly bitter smile. 

"Hawkeye?" 

"No, although it wouldn't surprise me," Moz answered. "That one has a nose for trouble. No, it's my latest protege, I'm afraid. Best forger I've ever seen. Best forger the feds have ever seen, too." 

His friend gave a sharp outlet of breath. "So you know what to do with art that can't be sold publicly." 

Moz frowned at him. "Maybe, why?" 

"I'd like to give your contact information to my friend," he said. "I have... things. I need to sell them." 

Mozzie blinked for a moment, before making the obvious connections. "You're the Accountant, aren't you? Wait, don't answer that. I absolutely do not need to know. The stuff he's rumored to have done, though, it sounds like it's right up your alley." 

"Yes." 

They talked for a while about contacts, precautions, commissions, things like that. But eventually they wound down into more social territory. One thing Mozzie had always had in spades was personality, and he was finding that this man had personality too, even if it took a long time of sitting and paying attention and getting used to him to really see it. 

"So, prison, followed by further excursions into the fun side of the law?" Mozzie asked. "What did they pin on you? If I may be so bold." 

"Beating up the guy who tried to kick me out of my mother's funeral." 

"Ouch. Sorry about that." 

Mozzie's friend inclined his head, and continued to stare off into the corner. 

"Well, you've carved yourself a fascinating little niche in the criminal underworld. I can't say I'm entirely surprised. You always were insatiably curious about the most dangerous things you could find." 

"Like you." 

"Like me," Moz admitted. "So. Out of curiosity, how did you find me?" 

"You haven't killed Teddy," his friend told him. "You should. He's eminently trackable." 

Mozzie scoffed. "After what you allegedly did to land in jail, you don't get to lecture me about nostalgia, or the things we do for family." 

The Accountant made an expression that approximated a pained smile. "Fair enough." 


	4. The Accountant

**4.**

**November 2016, New York City**

There was someone in his safehouse of the weekday, occupying his second favorite armchair. Someone dangerous? Well, they'd have to be. But it was a friend. 

Moz wasn't sure how the Accountant had found this place, and, at this point, he wasn't even going to ask. In recent years, he'd developed a certain appreciation for having roots, for being available to a wider group of people. Even though he had finally killed Teddy, he knew there were now all sorts of other trails to follow to get to him. 

People large and small, Burkes and Berrigans and Ellingtons, oh my. 

"This is a surprise," he told the Accountant. "I haven't heard from you, or the Brit, and you just show up? I'm assuming it's urgent." 

"The Brit," the man echoed, then stopped, not knowing how to continue. Aborted, jerky motions started in his hands but seemed to fill his entire body. 

Mozzie had seen this man quite a few times now, had become accustomed to his character and moods, but he only now realized that he'd never before seen the Accountant truly... distressed. 

Mozzie knew the Brit, in some ways, better than he knew the Accountant. He had names for neither of them, and a face only for the Accountant. But he took care of the Accountant's business through the Brit, when necessary, and he knew enough about code, evasion and black-market deals to see her character through their business interaction. The way she hacked, the code words she chose. Every operator had a certain flare - he could tell the Queen from the Vulture, the Bug from Nomi (and wasn't that an interesting thing to see?), Chaos from Hardison, and the Brit from any of them. 

"The Brit's in trouble?" he asked, dreading knowing how, but asking anyway. "Did they get to her? Is she hurt?" 

"She's not hurt physically." 

The accountant's fingers twitched as he visibly searched for the right words. He rocked a little, back and forth, where he sat, and Mozzie had never seen him so far out of the rigid control that his father and the military had imposed on him. 

"They sabotaged her computer. Her computer, it's... it's like my trailer. It's where she keeps everything that's most important to her in this world." 

Mozzie swore. "How did they get to her? How did they know? I'd venture to say you two have gotten better at the discretion game than I ever was." 

"My brother." 

"You told him how to find her?" 

The Accountant took a deep breath. "Braxton is... part of my life. He won't let me keep away from him. He thinks he can be discreet, but he's not discreet enough. Not for what I do. Not for how I keep myself safe. Not for how I keep _her_ safe." He almost caught Mozzie's eye before flicking away again. "She'll get it all up and running again, she'll be okay, but... they took Braxton. They're holding him hostage to get to me. I need to get him back. It's what brothers do." His voice sounded cardboard, and slightly lost. 

Moz frowned. "And you need my help? Story is you're a solo operator, and very competent." 

The Accountant shook his head just short of violently. "Not without the Brit." 

"She works with you on this stuff? I thought she was just a hacker, an intermediary." 

"She's a partner." His jaw worked as he spoke. "I like to have a plan. I like to follow it. I like having things the way I want them without having other people poking around in my space, interfering with my part of the job. I like having a voice in my ear I can trust. Someone who knows how I am. I like working without interference. I don't, actually, like working alone." 

That reminded Mozzie very much of another sniper he knew. A hawk who had always had a problem with authority, but who had never had a problem answering to a mob boss who was a scant year older than him, not even quite an adult when they'd met. An archer who had signed up with SHIELD when they came calling, not because of SHIELD, but because of the solid, competent, unassuming man they'd sent to ask. 

And that set Mozzie to thinking. 

No one knew Hawkeye and the Accountant knew each other, because they didn't. They hadn't seen each other, Mozzie would be willing to bet, since before the Accountant had become the Accountant. 

"I have a plan," Mozzie said, "or at least the beginnings of one, but we need Clint." 

"Will he tell SHIELD?" 

Moz gave that the consideration it deserved. "Not if it's me asking. And that it's _you_ , that probably won't hurt either." 

"Okay," the Accountant said. 

* * *

It was tense in the warehouse, as the deadline approached, as the trafficker and his muscle guarded their hostage. They'd kill him, if the Accountant didn't show.

A window broke, and the guard closest to the prisoner went down. The others took cover behind a heavy metal desk, dragging Braxton, tied to a wheeled office chair, with them.

"Hah," the trafficker said. "There's no one else the Accountant would trust to make that shot. He's given away his position. Go, find him," he said over the radio to the rest of his men.

But the Accountant must have been in the building already, because in a moment he came through the door, picking off the men where he knew they would be, crouched behind the desk.

The Accountant knelt behind his brother, untying his hands.

"Who the fuck just shot at me? Who the fuck did you just _let_ shoot at me?" he hissed, craning to try and see behind himself.

"A friend." 

Braxton stared him down. "Are you serious with that? Just 'a friend'? What kind of friends do you have now?"

The Accountant inclined his head. "A superhero."

Brax let out a dry, wheezy laugh. "Didn't really think there were any of those, except you."

The corner of the Accountant's mouth quirked up. "I'm not alone," he told his brother.

Braxton looked hard at him for a moment. "Good," he said at last. "That's good."

* * *

Back at Mozzie's, they all relaxed as far as they could, talking through the cleanup. Clint told the Accountant, "Rifle's not my favorite weapon, but if you gotta have one, that's the one to have. Thanks for trusting me with it."

The Accountant nodded.

"Why did you come to _me_?" Mozzie asked. "I'm not usually the paramilitary operation type."

"I trust you," the Accountant told him. "That's... uncommon. Braxton and the Brit - they are who I go to. They are who I ask. When I need someone taken down... it tends to be financial in nature. My usual contact is Department of the Treasury. And I don't make the phone calls."

"Treasury? As in feds? Seriously," Mozzie asked the sky, " _why_ are all my old friends now federal collaborators?"

"Okay," Braxton said, "look at it like this. Our old man dedicated his life to the army and tried to do the best he could for us while sticking with those ideals, with loyalty to the US military - and to be honest, we both wound up criminals and thugs because of what he taught us. Because of what he shaped us into." Brax sighed. "He also used to say, 'aggression, properly channeled, overcomes a lot of flaws.' And he made sure we learned that lesson, through and through. Because that's who he was. You talk up your ideals, you're just as likely to send people in the other direction. But your character, that's what sticks with the people you love. And your character, my friend, leans to the side of justice."

Mozzie had a fleeting memory of Kate, so much like Brax's brother but so different, recalling her mother's philosophy of 'good hair and makeup cover a multitude of sins.'

Those two had always been different, and their parents had pushed them in all kinds of uncomfortable directions trying to get them to fit in. They'd become what they were as much despite their parents as because of them. Some days, it was enough to make Moz glad that he'd killed off Teddy before his own parents had managed to track him down.

He liked the family he had now just fine, thanks.

Mozzie could get used to the idea that he stood for justice, he supposed. Not loyalty, not really - and _certainly_ not loyalty to any component of the military-industrial complex - but justice sounded good. And he had to admit that the agencies did some good, sometimes. That didn't mean he trusted them.

Usually, he preferred the agents to the agencies. And he knew some damn good ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, turns out I lied. 1) I did end up mentioning Penelope in passing, and 2) I forgot there are also sensates in this universe. I'm kinda planning on giving this series some Nomi awesomeness once sense8 s2 goes live.
> 
> Whew, that wasn't a WIP for long at all! I'm just super low on impulse control when it comes to posting fic. I needed to get the sections out there as soon as they were done. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
